Initial Reactions
by Mina1914
Summary: With a new idea in his head, Arthur was extremely anxious for Francis to come home from work. And after their usual dinner, Arthur gathered his courage to ask him. Spanking fic!


A/N:_ Al dente means for the noodles to be cooked until soft, but still firm. Just to clarify before hand._

* * *

It started with a simple day, during a routine dinner.

The whole day before this said dinner, Arthur was fidgeting. He was fidgeting ever since he realized what he wanted. His fingers trembled when he tried to do his damn embroidery, and when he tried to re-organize his many bookshelves in his library.

And when he imagined what it would be like, with Francis, he grew breathless, and his heart began to race inside. He knew how much he wanted this, and he just _had _to at least try and ask Francis. He wouldn't judge him, right? Francis had promised – since the beginning of this working-in-progress relationship – that if he ever wanted to try something, he should just ask and he would consider it.

But was this necessarily worth _considering_? To Francis? What would he think?

Only, this panicked thinking swallowed Arthur whole, and his eyes grew distant, and his face was all twisted, deep in thought.

He had work off today, so he had hours to think about this, and to plan it all out inside his head. He swore to discuss it over dinner, but once he glanced at the clock for the hundredth time, he noticed the hands had spun too quickly. Francis was coming home from the bakery.

Arthur nibbled on his forefinger nail anxiously, sitting on one of the beautifully carved mahogany dining chairs, turned to face the front door. This resumed until ten minutes passed, and he heard the nerve-racking crunching of the gravel underneath the tires of Francis' Jaguar.

He instantly jumped up, realizing how suspicious it would be if he was found basically _waiting _for him to come home. And that, was not something Francis would expect. He ran into the kitchen (stumbling over his feet in this over-exaggeration of current situation), and basically dived to the cabinet, and yanked it open to reach in and snatch the kettle.

When he heard the slam of a door and footsteps, he shoved the kettle under the flow of water of the sink's faucet, letting it fill half-way, and then slammed the lid on. But once he heard the jingle of keys and then the click of a lock shortly after, his hands shook so horribly, the kettle slipped from his grip before it made it to the top of the stove.

He gasped when it fell to the floor, the impact popping the lid off and spilling the water all over the floor of the kitchen. "Fuck_ me!_", he growled, and walked to the washcloth drawer to pull it open, just as he heard the front door slide open.

"Arthur?", he heard Francis call, a tone of worry in his voice. Arthur slipped on the traveling water as he grabbed a handful of rags, gripping the side of the counter before he could fall into the pool of water. He was panting by then, his face flushed. He clenched his eyes shut when he heard Francis' walk towards the kitchen, after he had taken off his shoes and coat.

He heard those footsteps halt in the doorway of the kitchen, and then heard a muffled snort. Arthur slowly stood straight, his hands still on the counter. He inhaled sharply, and opened his eyes.

"Wh..What in the world happened?", Francis asked, his tone humorous and in slight disbelief. Arthur could feel his face burn, and turned to face him, clenching the washcloths in his fist. "I-I, uh..I accidentally lost my grip on the k-kettle.", he mumbled, tripping over his tongue, feeling the urge to slap himself. He glanced up at Francis, seeing his hand over his mouth. Was he holding back laughter?

Arthur glowered at him, and that got a snerk from Francis. "Arthur, can..can you even handle making tea anymore? Should I help you with that?", he said, now only teasing in his voice, as he walked to him, around the puddle of water, lowering his hand from his mouth.

Arthur stiffened, and felt his throat tighten. This was so goddamn embarrassing.

"Shut up.", he snapped, and before Francis could ease the washcloths from his hand, he let them fall to the floor. "No, but you can clean up after me.", he hissed, feeling only anger now at Francis' insensitivity.

Then, he strode past him, stepping in the water, and left the kitchen. His feet left foot prints of a darker shade on the carpet as he walked towards the staircase. But, he paused at the first step, and glanced back at the doorway of the kitchen. He heard the rustling of cloth and then shortly the sound of water being disturbed.

Francis was actually doing it?

He laughed to himself, and then began to ascend the first few steps. Except, he stopped again when he heard a snicker from the kitchen. He bit his lip, feeling embarrassed again.

After exhaling heavily, he turned and charged back into the kitchen. When he saw Francis' wide grin on his lips, he bared his teeth, and crouched down to snatch the now slightly-wet rag from him. "Gimme that. You know what, just go, and I'll do it.", he said, and then got on his knees and bent over to begin swiping at the water.

"Ah, you're not mad at me, are you?", he heard Francis say, and then felt a hand on his back. Arthur shrugged it off, and continued wiping at the water, remaining silent. "So you are?", Francis continued, watching him as he switched the soaked rag to another dry one. Arthur kept his lips sealed shut as he began soaking up the water with a new cloth.

"Arthur, how could I not laugh? I came home to find you, clinging to the counter with the most terrified expression on your face. It was a nice welcome home, dear. Thank you.", he said, his voice wavering in warning of more laughter. Arthur slapped the wet rag over Francis' face, earning a surprised jump from the other. This time, he grinned.

"You're the one that scared me, idiot.", he said, and then turned back to wipe up the last of the spilled water. Francis remained silent as Arthur gathered the kettle and the lid. Arthur sniffed, and then stood. He threw the two soaked rags in the sink, and then dried the kettle and lid before he returned them to their previous homes.

"Why were you scared of me?", Francis stood, too, and eyed him. Arthur swallowed noisily, and shifted from foot to foot as he wiped his hands off on his jeans. "Uh, you just..surprised me. I was shocked you came home early, I guess.", he answered, which was partially, _slightly_, the truth.

Francis snorted, "You know when I come home. I saw you waiting for me through the front window, I'm not blind Arthur." Arthur sniffed again, and paced out of the kitchen. Francis followed.

"Fine, whatever, but I know you're grip didn't just simply slip on the kettle, I know you have steady hands.", he insisted, walking behind Arthur when he approached the staircase again.

When Arthur hadn't replied to that, and began walking up the stairs, Francis reached out to grab his hand. Arthur looked back at him, and arched a brow. Francis frowned lightly, and squeezed Arthur's fingers.

"If there's something wrong, you know you can tell me, right?"

Arthur blinked, and looked at his feet. "Nothing's wrong, I'm just nervous.", he answered truthfully, and then gently pulled his hand from Francis', and returned to ascending the stairs. Francis watched his back, and sighed, before he followed him.

The floorboards creaked below them as they paced to their bedroom. Arthur's hands grew sweaty, and his eyes grew distant again, staring at the floor as he stopped in front of his desk. He exhaled, knowing Francis wasn't going to let it drop.

And when he felt arms gently slide around his waist, and then felt a nose in his hair, his hypothesis was proven right. "Please tell me what's bothering you, sweetheart.", he heard Francis whisper, and then felt him kiss his head.

He blushed, knowing all too well that he called him 'sweetheart' to coax something out of him. Arthur licked his dried lips, and turned around in Francis' ring of arms, and reached up to softly brush his bangs back with his fingertips, looking up at him, his heart beginning to party again without his permission.

"Is it..too early to start dinner?", he asked quietly. Francis furrowed his brow, and exhaled. "Arthur.."

"I-I'll ask you later, alright?", Arthur replied hastily. Francis looked in his eyes, back and forth between the two, searching for any signs of lying. When he felt satisfied, he nodded. "What would you like for dinner tonight?"

"I don't care, something simple."

Arthur sucked in a breath when he felt Francis' hands wander down to his backside, and gave it a firm squeeze.

He blinked rapidly a few times, and blushed. "Pervert.", Arthur said, and pulled away from him. Francis grinned crookedly, revealing his teeth. "You like it!", he sang, and then left the room in a hurry, to avoid any thrown objects.

Arthur was too deep in an aroused haze to care, his breaths heavier than they should be. He sat down on the bed, still feeling Francis' grip. If only he wasn't wearing jeans at the time, and it was Francis' palm, rather than his fingers.

He hid his face in his hands, and bent over his knees. When he heard the running of water downstairs, and the clatter of pans, he sat back up, and dropped his hands. After inhaling sharply, he stood and walked out of the room, lightly shutting the door behind him. Why did he come upstairs in the first place?

The noises of Francis preparing dinner intensified when he descended the stairs. He drifted his hand over the wall, and then paused at the foot of the stairs to glance around the corner at the doorway of the kitchen. He suddenly smelled..bell peppers?

It attracted him, so he slowly approached the doorway, sniffing occasionally. He peeked into the kitchen, seeing Francis' back to him, his hair now tied back into a ponytail. Arthur stared at his new hairstyle (not really admitting it looked good on him) and then glanced at what he was doing. He was, in fact, mincing bell peppers.

And there were little piles of onion and garlic, and what looked like to be a stack of zucchini. Arthur's curiosity to what he was making urged him to enter the kitchen, his quiet footsteps over-lapped by the constant chopping of the knife. When Arthur was basically beside him, without Francis noticing, he saw how his agile hands cut fast and effectively, only a few moments passing before Francis moved to the green bell pepper, pushing the little pile of red bell pepper remains beside the onion.

Arthur continued watching in silence, until he finished the last bell pepper. When Francis turned with two handfuls of bell pepper, he jumped when he saw Arthur standing there. A few slices of bell pepper fell to the floor.

"Oh god, Arthur, you scared me.", he breathed, and then swiftly circled around him to place the bell peppers in the sizzling pan, brushing his hands off. The sizzling grew more agitated, the sound satisfying to Francis.

Arthur glanced at him, wringing his hands in front of himself. "Sorry.", he apologized, and watched as Francis dug out the noodles from the cabinet, the box already opened. Silence lingered as Francis poured the last of the noodles (those noodles that are about an inch long and are all twisty and multi-colored) into the pot of boiling water.

"Yes? Is there something you'd like?", Francis asked over the noises, shuffling around him again to get at the onions this time. Arthur swallowed, and followed him with his eyes when he hurried back to the frying pan to drop in the onions.

"I was wondering..if there could be some way I could help..?", he mumbled, shifting from foot to foot. He stared at the tiled floor. When he heard Francis exhale, he raised his eyes to him, and saw him wiping his hands on the wash cloth draped over the stove's handle.

Francis turned and walked to him, reaching out to place his hands on his shoulders. Arthur stared in his eyes. "You could stir the noodles, or make sure the vegetables don't burn?", he offered with a slight odd tone, trying not to push Arthur's lack of cooking ability away, but to give him a task that would be simple. Unless he found a way to mess those things up.

Arthur remained silent, so Francis let him go and turned to cup the garlic, and then returned to the stove, sprinkling them in the frying pan with the other ingredients. "If you choose to stir the noodles, make sure you test their tenderness. Tell me when they become al dente.", he said, and began shaking the pan around, before setting it back down on the burner.

He glanced back at Arthur, noticing how he looked lost. Francis licked his lips and pulled away from the pan to reach out and gently grab his wrist. He guided him towards the stove, in front of the burner where the pot was. He handed him a spatula, and motioned to the boiling water. "Stir, but not too fast, or you'll burn yourself, okay?"

Arthur then nodded, and cautiously dipped the spatula into the bubbling water, and began slowly stirring it. Francis watched him from the corner of his eye as he stood beside him, and then went rigid when he saw him reach out to rest his hand on the edge of the stove.

Francis instantly slapped his hand away. "Don't burn yourself!", he said, honestly concerned for his clumsiness. Arthur looked over at him, an annoyed expression on his face. "What? I wasn't touching the damn burner. I can handle myself, love.", Arthur said, and then huffed. Francis saw him rest his arm against his side instead. He exhaled and nodded, as if he agreed, "Of course. I just didn't want you to get hurt by accident."

Then Arthur decided to fling a few drops of boiling hot water on Francis' arm, resulting him in being banned from the kitchen.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Francis finished simmering the vegetables and boiling the noodles. It took him another few minutes to dish it onto two plates, pour them two glasses of water, and place the dirty dishes in the sink, to clean later.

After he had set the table (without Arthur's help this time), he called Arthur to the table, who was sulking on the couch in the living room.

"You had no right to ban me out of my own kitchen.", Arthur began instantly, as he pulled his seat out. Francis scoffed, busily taking out his hairband. "The only time you ever use 'your kitchen' is to either make tea, or burn toast in the _toaster_. Honestly, how can you be so irresponsible?", he retorted, scooting his chair out as well.

Arthur took his seat beside Francis' spot, and glared at the delicious looking meal. He secretly admired it; the bell peppers, zucchini, and onions looked perfectly cooked, and the noodles looked impeccable. Not one of them accidentally split in half, or broken. It was producing waves of steam. Arthur smelled the strong scent of rosemary and parsley, as well as pepper. His mouth watered.

He averted his eyes to Francis, who was now sitting at the head of the table, to his right. "Shut up, I can cook toast properly, I learned how to use the..dial thing. The darker shade means it's going to cook longer, and the lighter means the opposite. I'm not totally ignorant in cuisine, _Francis_.", he said simply, and adjusted in his seat with a pleased look on his face, as if he was _sure _he won this incredibly important argument.

"You call toast cuisine?"

"Shut up and eat the damn food."

The next few minutes went in silence as they lifted their forks and began eating, Arthur's lip twitching when the hot contents burned his tongue. Francis looked unaffected by it. When Arthur could actually taste the food over the sizzling of his tongue, he hummed by accident, earning Francis' smug eyes and his satisfied, teeth-revealing, shit-eating grin.

Arthur glowered at him with his eyes (his mouth too busy chewing). "This tastes like garbage.", he said between chews and swallowed it with a strained face, as if it was the worst thing he's ever tasted. Francis only chuckled and lifted another fork-full of his glorious meal to his curved lips.

Once Francis chewed and swallowed, he took a dainty drink of his water, and then placed it back down to look at Arthur. "I have a _sincere _question, Arthur.", he began, looking intently in Arthur's bottle green irises. Arthur paused mid-chew, and eyed him.

After swallowing, he looked at him again. "What?", he said, confused, his tone irritated.

Francis adjusted in his seat, and cleared his throat. "It's very serious.", he murmured, staring straight into his eyes with the most intense look. Arthur furrowed his eyebrows at him, in a 'what the hell' way.

"What is it?"

After placing his hand over Arthur's on the table, he leaned forward, and asked, "Will you do this dishes today?" After a moment of Arthur just staring at him blankly, Arthur rolled his eyes and pulled his hand out from under Francis'. "You idiot. Fine. You didn't have to get so worked up."

Francis couldn't restrain a few laughs, and muffled them with his hand, looking at Arthur with bright and pleased eyes. Arthur looked away, blushing lightly, and began stabbing a few noodles with his fork, piling them up. "You're such a moron.", he mumbled.

"You're so cute.", Francis said simply, and began eating again. Arthur shot a glare at him, and then lifted his fork from his plate to jab it at him, "You're not!"

That earned another laugh from Francis, and a kiss to the cheek, making Arthur sputter and push him away to continue eating, after mumbling a light "Lemme alone".

After that, their chatter and bickering continued for another thirty minutes, until Arthur exhaled, thanked him for the meal (as he always did no matter the circumstances, to be polite), and began gathering his dishes. Francis did the same, a grin on his face as he carried his dirty dishes to the sink with Arthur.

Although Arthur agreed on doing the dishes, Francis let him do the drying instead, and he himself the washing. Arthur had no argument with that, seeing as he loathed washing. Their hips touched as they talked.

Francis was fast with washing, and even if Arthur was extremely slow with drying, they finished in only ten minutes. Once Francis had put the dishes away, as well as the pot and pan with the spatula and knife, he ushered Arthur out of the kitchen, and turned the light off behind them.

When they went back upstairs, Arthur began to panic again. He realized the day was coming to an end, so he had to ask him soon. He glanced at the clock on the wall once he made it to the top of the stairs, and exhaled. It was getting late.

He remained silent as he went into their bedroom, Francis following behind, his eyes staring distantly on the carpet. He began absentmindedly undressing; slowly unbuttoning his waistcoat as he stared at the floor.

When he noticed Francis walk around him, to his front, he raised his eyes to him. Francis rested his hands over Arthur's, stopping his movements.

"There..was something you wanted to ask me?", Francis reminded him in a whisper, pulling his hands away from his waistcoat to hold them. Arthur instantly felt himself grow hot in his clothes from his anxiety, and his heart jumped to life again. He looked away, at the floor.

When he felt Francis begin to stroke the skin of his thumb, he swallowed.

"..me.", Francis heard him mumble, and then blinked, before furrowing his eyebrows lightly. He shifted from foot to foot, leaning in closer to Arthur a bit. "Sorry, I didn't hear you."

Arthur exhaled a shaky breath, and willed his fingers to stop trembling in Francis' hands. When he inhaled again, he raised his head to look into Francis' eyes. Before his courage could crumble he said, "I want you to spank me."

He looked at the floor again when he said it, and heard only silence from Francis. After a moment, he looked back up at Francis, seeing his eyebrows raised, and his eyes fixed on him. Then, Francis blinked a few times.

"S-Spank..you?", he repeated, trying to make sure he heard correctly (he wasn't trying to be rude, he just wanted to be positive). Arthur nodded, blushing, but didn't look away this time. Francis exhaled, rubbing his lips together, and then nodded too.

"When?"

A wave of relief washed over Arthur. He was glad he wasn't disgusted or completely blown-away at the request, but was open about it. He had said that from the beginning, after all. So there was no real reason to fret in the first place. The corner of Arthur's lips twitched into a tilted smile. "Now, please."

Francis paused, and then let his hands go. "Alright." They stood there for a moment in sheer awkwardness, until Arthur cleared his throat. "Sit..sit on the bed, then." Francis nodded and did as he was told, turning and walking to the bed, to sit on the edge, his knees together.

Arthur inhaled deeply through his nose and then brought his shaky hands down to the last few buttons on his waistcoat, and quickly unbuttoned them. He didn't want his waistcoat to get wrinkled, so he stripped it off himself and draped it over the armchair that sat beside the dresser.

Once he did so, he turned back to Francis and licked his lips. This was really happening. He's only discovered he wanted this a week or two ago, but the thought of it was eating his mind, nonstop. Each time he looked at Francis, he imagined hearing those loud smacks, and the burning feeling that would seep through him.

He bit his lip, seeing how Francis was watching him, and grew embarrassed again. He reached down to unbuckle his belt, and then slowly slid it out of the loops, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He licked his dried lips, and then yanked the belt away from his waist. He walked to Francis, raising his eyes to look into his blue irises, and then felt his hands grow sweaty. He held out the belt that was gripped in his hand, looking straight in Francis' eyes.

"Use this."

Francis, this time, looked embarrassed, his eyes doubtful. Arthur shifted from foot to foot, shaking his hand a bit for Francis to take the belt. Francis averted his stare to his hand, and then swallowed. He nodded and took it from him, his fingers wrapping around the leather.

Arthur exhaled a shaky breath, and retracted his hand back to his side. Although he originally was planning for Francis to use his hand, he just realized that not only the "spankee" would receive pain, but also the spanker. He knew how there were plenty of nerves in the hand, so the friction and force would also hurt Francis. Not that Francis would care (seeing as Arthur's ass would be _right there_), but Arthur didn't want him to grow tired and for his hand to grow weaker.

He inhaled sharply, and then looked away, not wanting to look at Francis' hesitant expression anymore. He moved his hands to the button of his jeans, and pushed it through the hole, and then unzipped the zipper.

The jeans fell to the floor with a soft thud, making Arthur's heart jump again from the progression. He left his underwear on, and raised his eyes back to Francis. He saw how his eyes had gone slightly wide, and his grip on the belt tightened.

Without a word, Arthur exhaled again and walked to him. He raised his legs and eased himself onto Francis' lap, his legs on both sides of his, sitting on his calves. Arthur blinked and stared into his eyes. He could still see the doubt and fear, so he raised his hands and caressed Francis' cheeks. He ran his thumb repeatedly over the soft flesh, Arthur's eyes searching in Francis'.

"This is what I want.", he began, "You promised me you would be willing to do what I wanted, right?"

"Don't use my words against me, Arthur.", Francis retorted quietly, averting his eyes from the other's. Arthur pursed his lips slightly, and then decided to tilt his head and softly kiss him on the lips, running his hands down to rest over his chest.

When Francis lightly kissed back, Arthur pulled away. "Give me forty.", he instructed, getting up from Francis' lap. When he glanced back at him, he saw how he was tapping his fingers over the belt, obviously nervous.

"What?"

"Use that", Arthur pointed at the belt and then at himself, "on me, forty times. Got it?" It took a moment for Francis to nod, but once he had, Arthur inhaled and exhaled. He ignored the excitement twisting in his stomach, and looked back and forth between Francis' lap and his face, before he gathered the courage to climb over him again, the bed creaking.

He rested his abdomen over Francis' legs, and let his own legs rest on the other side of him. He blushed as he propped up on his forearms, looking back at him. "O-Okay.", he whispered, feeling his heart pounding. He could feel himself grow uncomfortably hot in only his dress shirt, the anxiety making him heat up. When Francis adjusted himself under Arthur, staring at the Brit as he did so with a very concerned expression, Arthur bit his lip.

"Bare? Or over your boxers?"

"B..Bare."

Then, without hesitation, Francis hooked his fingers over the waistband of his underwear, and slid it down to his knees. He felt Francis instantly grope with his free hand, Arthur shivering and rolling his eyes at the same time.

Arthur paused when Francis moved his legs a bit, pushing them over the side of the bed, so they dangled off a bit. Arthur let him, and adjusted himself too.

Arthur blushed deeply when he felt Francis spread him open, and then fidgeted when he felt him stare, too. "G-Get on with it!", he growled, reaching back to push his hands away. But, Francis slapped his hands away, making him wince in surprise. "I'm in control here.", Arthur heard him say. He fidgeted in Francis' lap, that familiar arousing feeling pooling his abdomen. So, Francis decided to go along with it?

"Do I have to tie your hands?", Francis asked in an angered tone, Arthur inhaling sharply at the idea. "No, I'll behave.", he replied quietly, realizing this was some control thing that Francis decided to work with. Fine by him.

When Francis spread his cheeks apart again, he closed his eyes, and rested his forehead on the bed, feeling the soft fabric of the comforter on his skin. He rested his hands on the covers too, and let Francis look all he wanted.

Arthur couldn't help but tremble when he felt him run a finger over his entrance, and then down to his balls. He exhaled a shaky breath, and wiggled his hips, silently urging Francis to begin. Arthur bit his lip when Francis dragged the belt over his backside, teasing him, maybe.

Arthur was growing impatient. "Please..", he breathed, "I deserve a punishment." Arthur felt his face flush, and then resisted the urge to slap himself. Why did he just say that? He hated punishment roleplay, he thought it was embarrassing and stupid.

But, he noticed that Francis went rigid.

Then he felt him grab onto one of his cheeks roughly, his nails digging into the flesh. Arthur sucked in a breath. Francis released his hand, remaining silent, and ran it over the skin, pressing his fingers lightly. Arthur was already breathing audibly through his mouth, his cock half-hard just from the anticipation.

When Francis suddenly pulled his hand away and brought the belt down on one of his cheeks, Arthur winced, but it wasn't enough. "Harder.", he whispered, closing his eyes. He heard the shift of clothing, and assumed Francis was retracting his hand.

And, his assumption was proven right, when he felt a _harsh _slap against his backside again, and heard a loud smack. He gripped the sheets, feeling pain spike through him. Maybe he was a masochist after all, because it felt exhilarating.

"One.", he breathed, his face and ears burning.

Francis inhaled, and then raised his arm again to bring it back down on Arthur, hearing a loud smack. He watched him as he twitched, and his legs jumped, a small gasp coming from him as well. "T-Two.", he heard him say.

As Francis continued retracting and hitting the belt back down on his backside (Arthur gasping three, four, five, and six), Arthur's cheeks became an angry red. With slight arousal, Francis saw how his legs were trembling, and his hands were gripping the comforter tightly in his fists.

He repeated fulfilling Arthur's wish.

_Smack!_

"Ah! S-Seven.."

They haven't even reached ten, and Arthur was already panting.

"E..Eight!"

With each slap, Arthur jumped, and he began to fidget. Francis had to grab onto him to stop him from moving away when he began hitting with more strength. The sounds were so loud, it rang in their ears, and made their hearts accelerate. Each time the leather met with his skin, Arthur could feel the heat surge throughout his core, and the stinging pain making his eyes water. It was so _hot. _Everywhere.

After one specific harsh slap, a sob ripped from Arthur's throat, and his legs began to slide from Francis. Francis felt worried for a moment, but quickly shoved that doubt away, and instead hooked Arthur's legs under his own leg, pinning them down.

Francis looked down at him as he ran his hand over his abused cheeks, feeling how hot it was. It was definitely..arousing. To hear Arthur panting, and to see him gripping the covers like that, his whole body shaking.

He almost felt like asking if that was enough for him, but that would ruin his image as the one giving the "punishment". What did Arthur even do to deserve punishment? Then, after thinking about it, an idea came to him. He smirked down at him.

"You've been so..disrespectful, Arthur. I think you should learn your _place_.", he hissed, gripping onto the abused flesh again. When he heard that delightful gasp from Arthur, and felt him fidget, he smiled. Arthur remained silent, but Francis could tell he wasn't resisting.

The next time he raised his arm and brought it back down, he put all his strength into it. Arthur cried out, and thrashed his legs under Francis', his hands flexing and clenching again. When Francis heard a few sniffles, he felt slightly guilty.

"Haah..ah, twen..twenty-nine.", Arthur whispered breathlessly.

Francis swallowed, and then softly ran his free hand over his backside, the heat wrapping around his fingers and palm. He tried to soothe the pain away with his hand, rubbing softly. With his eyes looking over Arthur, he etched the image into his mind: his dress shirt had slid upwards a bit, revealing the small of his back. How his shoulders lifted and lowered after each heavy breath, and his hips shifted occasionally. The way his hands splayed out over the covers each time the belt met with his skin, and his head arched back slightly, allowing Francis to see a little bit of his forehead.

But what Francis enjoyed the most, was that Arthur had put trust in him. Trust to fulfill what he wanted as a lover, and to not take it too far (Francis had a strict rule for himself to always stop when that word was spoken). And, that Arthur was bent over him, open and willing and flushed.

Francis ran his hand farther up, roaming over the small of his back, and then up his shirt, feeling the dip and curve. As he did that, massaging gently, he quietly raised his hand again, tightening his grip around the leather.

He glanced at Arthur's red cheeks before he snapped his arm down, the belt meeting his skin with a harsh slap. Arthur's back arched into his hand, and Francis felt how his legs moved and trembled under his. A loud breathless exhale came from Arthur, and then he collapsed against the comforter, his chest heaving.

"Thir..ty.", he whispered.

After Francis let him gain his breath, he pulled his arm back and smacked the belt harshly against his backside, repeatedly, inswift motions. After each whip, Arthur jumped and gasped before he rasped out the next number, his drool beginning to slip from his lips, oozing down onto the comforters.

The Frenchman stopped right at the last one, letting Arthur catch his breath, and for the pain to die down. He wondered what Arthur was feeling. Did he like it? Was it too much? But, Francis' mind went blank when he felt Arthur begin to move. Only, he wasn't just fidgeting, he was rutting against his thigh, back and forth.

That's when Francis _finally _felt Arthur's erection pressing against his leg. He stared in surprise when Arthur rubbed against him, his hands grabbing onto the blanket. Francis licked his dried lips, and placed his hand on Arthur's back.

Arthur went rigid, and stopped moving his hips. Instead, he melted from the touch, falling limp against the bed. Francis inhaled, and ran his hand back over his hot cheeks, looking down at them.

"Arthur, I think this was enough.", he said, looking at the back of his head. The Brit turned his head and looked him in the eyes. Francis could plainly see the harsh lust in his eyes, and he recognized that familiar expression.

When Arthur began to move his hips against his leg again, he raised his chin, still keeping eye-contact, and licked his lips. "I'm such a bad boy..", he whispered, slitting his eyes at him, "I..think I deserve more, mm."

Francis stared at him, his head going blank again. He remained silent for a moment, confused by his words and his attitude. When he exhaled a shaky breath, he murmured, "Arthur..I don't want to hurt you.", as he softly pressed the tips of his fingers into one of his cheeks.

"Please? Just..one last _hard_ one. Ah, use all of your strength..", Arthur breathed, and then wiggled his butt a little, urging him on, and giving him a better aim. When he looked away, and rested his forehead on his forearm, Francis inhaled sharply, and then sighed. At least Arthur was enjoying himself.

For the last time, Francis retracted his arm, raising his hand with the belt above his head. He exerted as much force and strength as he could into his arm, and then brought the belt back down over Arthur's backside. The sound was definitely loud, and Arthur's reaction was much more of a turn-off than any others have been. Arthur groaned in pain loudly, and he threw his head back, and began pulling away from Francis, as an immediate reaction to the stimulating pain that swam through him, making his arms shaky.

Francis was convinced he hurt him too much, and let the belt fall from his hand onto the bed. He instantly pulled Arthur back into his arms, and held him against his chest. Just from a glance, he could tell Arthur's eyes were watering, and his lips were bitten. Arthur was gasping, and his hands rested against Francis' stomach.

"Fort..", Arthur began, but was too exhausted to finish, his inhale sharp and jagged. Francis kissed him on the head, and cursed this idea to hell. He hated hurting Arthur, even if it was for sexual purposes. But, if it was once, he would deal with it.

Then Arthur began moaning, and he gasped. "Ah, Francis..", he breathed, shifting a bit on his lap. When Francis felt his arm began to move, he pulled his embrace away, and furrowed his brow when he noticed Arthur was stroking himself.

And, apparently, he had just come onto his slacks, and now was easing the rest out.

"Wow, thanks.", Francis grumbled.

"Sh-Shut up. You can wash it out.", Arthur breathed, slowing his hand to a stop. He moved his hand to rest it on Francis' stomach again, his panting eventually slowing to even breathing.

They sat there for a minute in silence, until Francis felt Arthur grope his crotch. He blinked, and looked up at Arthur's face.

"Oh..I was planning on giving you a blowjob, but you haven't even gotten hard.", Arthur mumbled, and pulled his hand away. Francis couldn't help but laugh, and kissed the Englishman on the forehead. "It's fine. Now, get up so I can clean these slacks before they get stained.", he said, patting him on the thigh.

"You sure? I can still give you a blowjob, y'know."

Francis chuckled, "I'm sure." Arthur nodded, not really caring if he wanted one or not, and climbed off of him, letting him stand up. He watched Francis leave the room with hazed eyes, and then felt his backside. It stung a little, but a nice tingling sensation lingered, too. He exhaled happily, blushing a little.

Then, he stood to change into a t-shirt, and a pair of sweatpants. The soft fabric of the sweatpants rested comfortably against his legs. Once he brushed his teeth in their private bathroom, and emptied his bladder, he re-entered their bedroom, his feet padding softly against the carpet.

He glanced at the bed, seeing the belt curled up, forgotten on the messed up comforter. Arthur eyed it, knowing he would remember this whenever he would use it. Once he returned it to it's place in their closet, he went back to their bed. He exhaled as he began flattening the blankets out, and pushed the sheet back under the corners of the mattress.

And after he set up the pillows against the headboard, he turned on their alarm, and then climbed into bed, under the covers. He sat there, thinking deeply, until he heard Francis' footsteps coming up the staircase. When the door creaked open again, Arthur raised his eyes to look at Francis, who was quietly walking in, in only his briefs.

Arthur stared with a smirk as Francis walked to the dresser, his eyes fixed on his ass as he crouched down to pull open the bottom drawer. When Francis grabbed his own pair of sweatpants – the sweatpants from his years he took in ballet – he stood and yanked them on, before he closed the drawer with his foot.

He turned to smile at Arthur as he shook his hair out, his eyes loving. The Brit returned the smile genuinely, and patted the space beside him. "Come cuddle with me.", he said, his smile revealing his teeth now. Francis grinned, and basically jumped into the bed. Instantly climbing under the covers, he exhaled deeply, the blankets comforting. He opened his arms, waiting for Arthur.

Arthur laughed and then slid into his embrace, initially wrapping his arm over his waist, resting his head on his shoulder.


End file.
